People often ask me: why the Arctic? – my favorite place. While I know exactly what to answer, at the same time I don’t. Perhaps this has to do with how I see the Arctic as my home. A home with no boundaries, no black and white aesthetics – mind you, I already wrote about this – no square rooms, no chickens in the yard, no statements.

What then, if not all these things, all some fine signs of civilization? Round huts, colorful silks, wolfs that are not wolfs, and weird museum objects bought on ebay and coming god only knows where from? Well, yes. That’s it. I surround myself with things that have a value beyond that which I myself can participate in inscribing. The culture way.

Sometimes I laugh at myself for the reason I often invoke when I have to explain why I’m against marriage: so that I wouldn’t be caught dead with owning a single photograph of myself wearing a fancy dress and being captured in a setting that all too well screams: ‘mine.’ Family pictures tend to have borders. When people pose for a family picture there’s often lines in it that delimit some borders: ‘This is mine, and that is mine, and she is mine, and the house is mine, and the dog is mine’. You get the picture. Mind you, I’ve also written about this before. But it seems that it makes a good subject every time. It’s as eternal as the phony image that we all buy about how good life has been to us. How lucky we all are. We are now with just the person we’ve been dreaming of. So we hurry to inscribe ourselves in some picture. That’ll do it. Hold it. The marriage, that is.

Of course, deep down we all know that the more the status quo images scream status quo, the more they are just that, status quo. Symbols of desires that are not even our own. Nothing more. There’s no substance in a house of squares, a family of squares, a dream of the other as a square that we’ve made to fit the image that we want to promote of ourselves. As settled people. Now we’re serious. Important. Now we have something to say.

So, yes, the Arctic. The good news is that you don’t have to show off any settlement. Up there. In the Arctic you’re not settled and realized. You don’t have a life purpose. You don’t act as an inspiration to all those who can become better at taking risks. In becoming good entrepreneurs. The more money kids of 12 can make, the more spiritual they can get. About materialism. We hear. There’s solid logic in that. No doubt.

Oops, the wolf that’s not a wolf is making sounds of restlessness. ‘You’re not writing about your regrets again, are you?’ Wagging her tail. ‘Look at the statement I’m making to the moon? What do you think of it?’ ‘Oh, I like it,’ I say. ‘Come here and give me a kiss.’ Wolfie complies on the spot. Smootch. Hmm. The taste of wisdom. I’ll write about that. If I have it. If I’m in doubt as to whether I have it, I know what I’ll think off. The Arctic. Living the life with snow and cards. Lots of cards. The Popess flanked by the Hanged Man and struggling with Spirit, or La Force. The Spirit will come through, if conflict is resolved. ‘Don’t inscribe yourself in any dumb pictures, you hear?’ ‘I hear you.’ I say this with conviction. The kind that’s cold and hot at the same time. The kind that makes others mad. The boxes. The hollow men. I hear a howl and slip through a vortex. I call it mine.


Note on the cards: Tarot de Marseille, Edition Millenium, as reconstructed by Wilfried Houdoin, 2011.


Post via my cartomantic website, Taroflexions.


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